Attending a concert when I was twenty was a huge deal. Northern Iowa didn’t have many venues that attracted talent, but nearby Minneapolis did. On the University of Minnesota campus, a thousand-seat concert hall was suitable for jazz vocal legend Al Jarreau. I’d listened to his recordings so much that my needle drops were visible on the one Jarreau vinyl I had, and with a friend we saved money and got a seat in the last row of the balcony to hear this amazing vocalist in person.